From Duke till Dawn: 2018’s most scandalous Regency read

Cassandra had heard through the usual gossip networks that he’d been seriously wooing a young woman of gentle birth. A strange, unexpected—and unwelcome—pain had lodged in her chest at that news. Then, yesterday, that lady had jilted him publicly.

God, how he must be hurting. She ached for him, even as she secretly rejoiced that the stupid chit hadn’t possessed the good sense to make Alex her husband.

A duke had to marry, but there wasn’t a single woman alive who was his equal.

She’d seen the worst of humanity, its greed and selfishness and stupidity. She’d never known anyone who didn’t demand reciprocity in some fashion. Even saints wanted their halos admired.

But Alex . . . he came by his integrity honestly. He never said what he didn’t mean. He gave of himself because he wanted better for others, without expecting anything in return. It wasn’t weakness—it was true gallantry.

That had been her undoing.

She shoved at the tempest of emotion battling within her. “There is a spot open at the hazard table, my lady,” she told a flush-faced woman with graying hair. “I understand the dice favor women.”

“Do they?” the lady trilled. She walked on somewhat-unsteady legs toward the gaming table.

Cassandra stifled a sigh. The tables were honest, but the players didn’t always have the best sense. Not my concern. She couldn’t stop people from being fools, and the more rash they became, the more her own profits would go up.

People came to gaming hells because they wanted to forget themselves. They dropped their dignities at the entrance in exchange for the chance of winning significantly.

Not Alex. He was a proud man. He’d never allow anyone to see him as anything less than flawless. He certainly didn’t want anybody to observe him hurting. After Lady Emmeline’s rebuff, Cassandra hadn’t known if he would hide. Or make himself visible as a way to let the chatterers know he wouldn’t be felled by a lady cutting him loose. Both were possibilities.

Cassandra had mentally braced herself, but that had done almost nothing to shield her from the storm of feelings—happiness, terror, pleasure, sorrow—that hit when she saw him again. When he’d spoken her name. When he’d looked at her as though she’d truly come back from the dead.

Or when he gazed at her as though he wanted to carry her off to the nearest bed and make love to her for days.

She now pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heart to slow. It was always an unruly creature and refused to calm, still pounding away even though Alex had gone. Her feet wanted to run after him. Her body ached for his touch.

Cassandra hadn’t taken a lover in two years. Not since Alex. Maybe that had been foolish. Now there was nothing between her body and the memories of him, his dark hair mussed, the hard square line of his jaw tightening as he thrust into her. She wouldn’t have believed such an honorable, principled man would make love to her like he was born for the task. As though his only desire was to give her unending pleasure.

No. Those memories served no purpose. They only put her at risk. But heaven and hell, how she ached for him now. Her knight, her lover.

“The Duke of Greyland?” Martin Hughes, alias Martin Hamish, asked at her shoulder.

She turned to him, and saw his upraised brow. Martin was curious. Fifteen years of knowing someone allowed you to recognize their every mood like a farmer knew the shifting weather.

He jerked his head toward the office, and she had no choice but to follow. They entered a darkened corridor off the main gaming hall, where Martin used a key latched to a watch fob to unlock one of the doors, then stepped inside. Part of Cassandra wanted to flee. She dreaded reviewing her history with Alex, but there wasn’t a way around it.

Seating himself behind a large oak desk, Martin opened a case and pulled out a cheroot. As he lit the end, Cassandra breathed in the familiar scent of his tobacco blend. Instantly, she was back standing in the yard of one of countless coaching inns, with Martin securing passage to their next destination, their next job. Always, always, they kept moving, for staying in one place meant a greater chance of detection and capture.

Martin took several draws off the cheroot. He studied its smoldering end. Taking his time. Cassandra stood and waited, her hands clasped in front of her. Trying to hurry him would only make him irritated, and there wasn’t anything to be gained by that.

She glanced at the safe standing behind his desk. It held the entirety of their profits, which would be paid back to their staff, investors, and, ultimately, themselves. The safe held her future, one that would free her from this life of dishonesty.

“Not a word from your lips about the Duke of Greyland,” Martin said. His Scottish accent vanished the moment he crossed the threshold of his office.

“It was two years ago,” she noted. “What went on between us didn’t seem important to what you and I are doing now.”

“And what did transpire between you and His Grace?” he asked pointedly.

“Nothing strange. It was in Cheltenham.” She needed a distraction, so she ran her hand along the carved edge of the desk, feeling its curves and hollows with fingers that could still pick a pocket without the slightest trouble. “Played the Desperate Widow gambit.”

“You take him?” Martin asked mildly.

“For five hundred pounds.”

Martin grinned. “That’s my lass.”

She couldn’t curb the bubble of pleasure from his praise. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t worked together in nearly a decade. He would always be the one she wanted to please.

“I got his blunt and disappeared. Hardly worth discussing.” She wouldn’t tell him about going to bed with the duke, and she surely wouldn’t mention the fact that her body still hungered for Alex’s touch. Or that her heart yearned for his understanding, his compassion. She would have given anything to see one of his rare smiles. That cautious flash of a grin spoke of how uncertain he was in allowing himself a moment’s amusement. She imagined that someone, long ago, had told him that dukes didn’t smile. Or laugh. Or take pleasure in anything.

He deserved to let himself feel happiness and a respite from the duties pressing in on him from every side. He was worthy of love.

But she wasn’t the woman to give that to him. She never could be.

“Looks like he’s still panting for you,” Martin noted. “Especially after losing that gel to the cavalry officer.”

Naturally, Martin knew everything about everyone. He was a library’s worth of information.

She shrugged, even as her heart leapt.

“Why not keep him on the lead for a while?” her mentor suggested. “Get a few hundred pounds more out of him.”

“He’s just smarting because that girl eloped,” she said flatly.

“Perfect!” Martin exclaimed. “No better time to gull someone. Isn’t that what I taught you?”

The rules for running confidence schemes were carved on Cassandra’s heart the way others knew their Bible. But the Bible didn’t put food in her belly or keep her in silk stockings. The Bible didn’t care when she was a child, alone and desperate.

That desperation never left her. She’d probably go to her grave feeling its claws around her throat.

“I’ve been at the confidence game for sixteen years,” she said, keeping her voice level. “You’ve taught me everything I know.”

“Rule Number One?” he pressed. He liked to quiz her sometimes. As if he was still her teacher.

“Keep yourself clean,” she recited. “No tangles, no mawkishness.”

Acting very educational, he pressed, “Because why?”

Cassandra exhaled, slightly annoyed. She wasn’t a fifteen-year-old girl in need of training. At thirty-one, she’d learned everything she needed, and had kept herself out of the law’s hands. Not once had she been brought before a magistrate. That wasn’t about to change as a result of Alex, regardless of how she felt about him.

“Because,” she said, recalling Martin’s earliest words to her, “the most risky scheme a swindler can do is the one they pull on themselves.”

“And caring about our marks is the most perilous thing that could happen to us,” he finished, jabbing his cheroot toward her for emphasis. Then he smiled. “But you’re a clever girl, cool and hard as diamonds. Get more blunt out of the duke, why don’t you?”

“Didn’t you tell me not to run two games at once?” she returned. “I can’t do my job here and string him along at the same time.” Her heart withered and her stomach soured at the thought of taking more money from Alex. She was done with that life. Done with hurting people. Hurting him.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t see why we couldn’t have set up this gaming hell in Edinburgh or Dublin. Safer that way. Less chance of either of us running into prior dupes.”